Cheyenne Justice

by Charles G. West

  The night passed without incident. The next morning, as the sun barely peeked through the trees, he poked up his fire enough to heat up some coffee to wash a few pieces of hardtack down his throat before saddling up. He was somewhat surprised that the night had passed peacefully. He was halfway expecting a visit from Hungry Wolf and his friends.

  He started toward White with his saddle and she backed away, almost tripping herself on her hobbles. “Damned if you ain’t the laziest horse, letting Black do all the work. I got a good mind to load that pack up with rocks.” Not in the mood to argue with her this morning, he threw his saddle on Black again. With the saddle strapped on Black, White stood obediently while Jason put the light pack on her. After watering the horses, he climbed in the saddle and struck out for Fort Lincoln, a good week’s ride to the east.

  On the east side of the river, Black labored a bit when he climbed a rise in the bank. Suddenly the horse threw his head back violently and bucked. A split second later, Jason heard the shot. Several more shots rang out before he had time to react and he heard the distinct whine of a bullet as it passed in front of his face and the thud of two others against Black’s side. As quickly as he could, he tried to pull Black’s head around to guide him back down the riverbank but the horse was already mortally wounded and stumbled headfirst down the bank. Jason leaped from the saddle, pulling his Winchester out of the boot as he did.

  “Son of a bitch!” He cursed himself for not having seen it coming. He scrambled to find cover behind the riverbank while trying to pinpoint the source of the rifle fire. A couple more shots sprayed sand a few feet over his head and he recognized the distinctive bark of a Henry rifle. They were at fairly close range and not very good shots, he thought, considering they had missed him and hit his horse three times. And he knew damn well they didn’t want to kill the horses.

  He looked back near the water’s edge where Black lay on his side. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, boy.” Glancing downstream, he saw that White had run about a hundred yards down the river and stopped. He crawled a few yards farther along the bank to a log that afforded a little more cover. Very cautiously, he eased his head around the log, trying to find where the attack was coming from. The move was immediately met with rifle fire that splintered the log, and he ducked back under cover. At least he knew where they were. There had only been time for a quick glance, but he had pinpointed the gully that concealed them.

  As near as he could tell, there were no more than two rifles, but they had him pinned down where he couldn’t get in a position to return their fire. And if he tried to retreat toward the river, he would have to cross about ten yards of open sand, and he would be too good a target for even poor shots. There wasn’t much he could do except maybe wait all day for darkness, and Jason didn’t care much for that plan.

  After a moment’s thought, he crawled back along the bank until he reached Black. The horse was lying still now and Jason could see there would be no necessity to end the animal’s suffering. The sight of the dead Appaloosa sickened Jason—such a fine animal to be wasted in a lowdown dry gulching. “Damn, I’m sorry, boy,” he whispered, “but I’ve got some plans for these boys yet.” He reached into his saddlepack and retrieved the piece of white cloth he had tied on his rifle the day before. Retying it, he made his way back to the log. His movements must have stirred some of the long grass near the top of the bank because the log received another volley of rifle fire, sending splinters flying. There were also several dull thuds that Jason identified as arrows. They were probably the same six warriors he had seen with Hungry Wolf, and he was right about the rifles. Only two of the warriors had them.

  Keeping low behind the log, Jason raised the barrel of his rifle and waved the white rag back and forth. The shooting stopped. He called out to his ambushers. “Don’t shoot! I’m coming out. Don’t shoot!”

  There was a howl of triumph from the gully when they heard the white man surrender and the warriors rushed out to take their captive. Coles had been trapped on the riverbank, and Hungry Wolf knew the scout had no place to go. He was glad Jason did not make them waste any more ammunition. “Come out, then!” he called out. “We will not shoot.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Jason mumbled as he stood up, his rifle leveled. The staccato hammering of the Winchester ripped the stillness of the river basin as Jason fired and cocked and fired again, so rapidly the startled Cheyennes had no time to react. In that instant of lightning-fast fury, he had no time to identify targets, simply pumping lead into bodies as they ran toward the cover of the gullies. He saw three bodies go down and a fourth caught a bullet in the shoulder as the bewildered warriors fled for safety. He climbed out of the gully and ran toward the bluffs in time to see the three survivors galloping away. They were soon out of range of his rifle, but Jason took one last shot at them anyway. He saw a puff of dust behind the last horse as his bullet fell short.

  Satisfied he had seen the last of those three for a while, he returned to the gullies to check on the three bodies laying there. They were all dead. He turned each one over. The young hothead who had counted coup on him was one of the three but there was no Scarface. Too bad, he thought, I sure as hell don’t need an enemy like him. Looking down at the bodies, he said, “I just said don’t shoot…I didn’t say I wasn’t going to.” He had no qualms about tricking them. He figured the no-good dry gulchers had it coming. Besides, they had killed as fine a piece of horseflesh as he had ever seen. They needed killing.

  Catching White would be his next task. The Appaloosa was still standing where he had last seen her, seemingly unconcerned with the conflict that had just taken place, pulling up grass near the riverbank and occasionally looking toward Jason as if only mildly interested in his movements. Jason knew she was going to be difficult; she always had a mind of her own when it came to the amount of work she felt she was obligated to do. He started walking slowly toward her.

  “Come on, girl,” he called softly. He repeated it over and over, hoping to keep her from getting excited. She cocked her head and eyed him suspiciously, then turned and retreated a few yards further down the bank, where she again stopped and watched the man approaching. “Damn your ornery hide.” He cooed the words softly in the same tone as before. “Come on, girl.” He continued to walk toward her. She turned and slowly walked a few steps farther. He stopped. He could see he wasn’t getting anywhere. Every time he advanced toward the horse, she retreated. He decided that if they kept that up, she’d eventually walk him all the way back to Fort Fetterman. He abruptly turned his back on her and slowly began to walk in the opposite direction. Glancing over his shoulder, he found that the horse was now following him. “Contrary bitch,” he muttered and continued walking. She continued to follow. He couldn’t help but smile. I reckon she’s like most women, he thought. She just don’t like being bossed around.

  He continued walking until he was back at the carcass of his other horse, where he stopped and turned to face the mare. To his astonishment, White continued to approach and he stood there and watched openmouthed as she came right up to him and stood, obedient as you please. He held her halter and patted her on the neck, then scratched behind her ears. He was amazed at the horse’s transformation. She might as well have said she had decided to accept him at this point. He wondered if it was because the competition with Black no longer existed. Was a horse smart enough to sense that? He didn’t know, but she had sure as hell changed. He had never petted her much before, if ever. Maybe all she wanted was a little affection. Whatever the reason, man and horse agreed on a partnership on the banks of the Powder.

  After pulling his saddle out from under Black with help from White, he threw it on the mare, along with the light pack she already carried. She made no objection, even standing quietly while he stepped up in the stirrup. With one long look back at Black, he shook his head sadly. It was a damn shame. Once again, he struck out toward the Little Missouri.

  Chapter III

  Andy Coulter l
ooked up from the sock he was darning and squinted into the sun now settling down behind the roof of the bachelor officers’ quarters. He was sitting on the small porch on the end of the quartermaster’s shack, his back propped up against a post. A rider approaching from the west had caught his eye and he paused in his sewing to watch. Something about the way the man sat his horse looked familiar but he was still too far out to identify. Curious, he continued to stare. He knew he had seen the man somewhere so he put his sock aside and stood up on the porch to get a better look.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he finally blurted when the rider approached the outer buildings of Fort Lincoln. “That can’t be nobody but Jason Coles.” He stepped down off the porch and started walking rapidly toward the headquarters building, where the rider seemed to be heading.

  Jason pulled White up before the hitching post and remained seated in the saddle. He noticed the short barrel-chested man ambling toward him on legs bowed like someone had just pulled a horse out from under him. The man was obviously heading to intercept him, so he waited. When he was within about fifty yards, he recognized him. A faint smile creased Jason’s face as he watched the old scout approach, but he said nothing.

  “Jason Coles!” Andy called out. “What the hell are you doin’ out here? Are you lost?” The old scout’s face was split with a wide grin.

  “Hello, Andy. No, I ain’t lost. I just thought I’d come out and see if you still had your hair.” He dismounted and the two scouts shook hands and slapped each other on the back.

  “Well, I reckon so,” Andy laughed and pulled off his hat to expose his white, hairless skull. “Just as full and pretty as ever.” They laughed at that and Andy said, “The last I heard of you, you was going to quit the army and raise horses in Colorado territory.”

  Jason smiled but his eyes took on a serious look. “That didn’t work out. I reckon I wasn’t meant to settle down in one place.”

  Andy waited expectantly but Jason failed to offer any details and Andy remembered that Jason seldom did when it came to his personal life. “Well, hell. Well, what the hell are you doin’ here, anyway? You coming to work here?” Before Jason could answer, Andy continued. “Why don’t you sign on with the Seventh? We could damn shore use a man who knows the Yellerstone country like you do.”

  Jason shrugged indifferently. “I got word that Colonel Holder wanted to see me about something. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Holder? Hell, he’s attached to the post adjudant. He ain’t in the Seventh. He’s riding a desk. Colonel Custer’s our boss.” Andy shook his head. “And he’s a real pistol too, I can tell you. Custer’s who you want to ride for, Jason.”

  “I scouted for Holder before—last time was out of Camp Supply in Oklahoma territory. He’s a good man.” Jason had heard of Custer on more than one occasion and, while he had never met the man personally, he didn’t expect he’d care too much for scouting for the fiesty and flamboyant young colonel. There was that business with the Cheyennes on the Washita, when he slaughtered most of a peaceful village and called it a great battle. Then, according to what Jason had heard, he rode off and abandoned a detachment of his own men when it looked like the Indians might be getting organized to counterattack. No, he thought, he’d just as soon not work for Custer. But Andy sure seemed to think the man was something special so he kept his opinion to himself. “I reckon I’d better see what Colonel Holder wants with me. I’m running a tad late. I got sidetracked on the way.” He didn’t feel it necessary to explain why.

  After promising to meet Andy afterward at his room next to the quartermaster’s shack, Jason went inside to find Colonel Holder. A young corporal directed him to a door near the end of the building and Jason knocked and waited.

  “Come in.”

  He recognized the voice as Colonel Lucian Holder’s. Jason opened the door.

  “Coles!” The colonel got to his feet and extended his hand. “Come in, come in.” He shook the scout’s extended hand vigorously. “It’s good to see you, Jason.” Then his face took on a stern countenance and he frowned. “Where in hell have you been, man? I was beginning to think you were dead.”

  Jason explained simply by telling Holder that he had run into a bit of Indian trouble that took a little extra time to settle and that he had gotten there as soon as he could after everything was straightened out.

  Jason looked around him at the tiny office—not very luxurious accommodations for a man who was supposed to be getting his star in a short time. Colonel Holder was quick to answer Jason’s unspoken questions.

  “This isn’t much of an office, is it? They know I’m only here temporarily so they stuck me back here in this closet. I don’t even have a clerk, for God’s sake.”

  It was obvious the colonel’s dignity had been thoroughly stomped on. “Where’s Max Kennedy?” Jason asked. “I thought he came out here with you.”

  “The sergeant-major’s been reassigned. I don’t even have him anymore. I don’t mind telling you, Coles, they’ve got me damn well impotent. It’s that damn little poppinjay Custer. He knows I’m being called in to work for General Sheridan and he wants to make sure I don’t know anything about the daily operations of the Seventh Cavalry.” Holder glared at the tall scout for a few moments before his face relaxed. “That’s why I sent for you, Jason. I’ve got an important mission to perform for General Sheridan and I need my own man, someone I can trust.”

  Jason raised one eyebrow slightly, the only hint that he was curious about the assignment. The gesture was not lost on Colonel Holder. He continued. “I don’t mean to sound sinister or secretive. Let’s just say I have my reasons for not making my plans public information. So I have to ask you to keep the real purpose of your mission between you and myself. The fewer people who know about it, the better.”

  “All right,” Jason agreed.

  “I know you and one of Custer’s scouts, Andy Coulter, are friends. I don’t want you to discuss it with him, either. I see no reason to let this get to be general knowledge.”

  Jason began to get impatient. “All right, I won’t talk about it with Andy but, Colonel, what in hell do you want me to do?”

  The colonel hesitated for a few seconds before leaning forward as if about to disclose a secret. “I want you to find a newspaper reporter in Indian territory.”

  “A newspaper reporter?” Jason could not disguise his astonishment.

  Holder hurried to explain. “A reporter from the Chicago Herald has been making a big fuss about telling the Indian side of the conflict out here. Now she’s hired a half-breed Sioux named Nathan White Horse to take her into the Big Horn country to try to talk to Sitting Bull.”

  “A reporter? Hell, Colonel, seems to me if a reporter ain’t got any more sense than to—Wait a minute! Did you say ‘she’?” Holder nodded. “She? A woman reporter? I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

  “I’m afraid so, a Miss Abigail Langsforth. She’s the publisher’s daughter and a bit headstrong, so I’m told.”

  “Well, I reckon,” Jason allowed, “and maybe a bit tetched in the head.”

  Holder leaned back in his chair once more. “You can see why General Sheridan is concerned. He’s a personal friend of the publisher and the girl is like a niece to him. Of course she didn’t tell her father what she planned until she wired him of her intentions when she got out here. Needless to say, no one here knew what she was going to do or we would have attempted to dissuade her. Now there’s been no word of her, or the half-breed she hired, for over three weeks. Her father fears she’s dead, murdered by hostiles or the half-breed. At any rate, he wants to know one way or the other.”

  Jason was astonished. “How long was she here at Lincoln?”

  “Two weeks.”

  He thought about it for a few seconds more. “Why the secrecy? Have there been any patrols out looking for her?”

  “No. General Sheridan directed me to keep this incident quiet for a couple of reasons. First, he thinks it best not to let word o
ut that she’s the publisher’s daughter. It might give Sitting Bull a trump to play if he does have her captive. Secondly, we frankly don’t have enough troops to mount a campaign to act as a rescue mission at this point.”

  Jason looked surprised. “How many troops do you need? I ain’t ever seen so many wagons and horses in one place before.” He had marveled at the apparent troop strength when he rode into Fort Lincoln. There were wagons lined up for a quarter of a mile. The place was crowded with cavalry and infantry. Looking out to the north, he had seen a large horse herd and two or three hundred head of cattle. “It sure looks like the Seventh is getting ready to mount a campaign.”

  There was a hint of a smirk on the colonel’s face. “The Seventh is mounting a campaign, all right. Custer is leading an expedition into the Black Hills—an exploratory expedition he calls it.”

  “The Black Hills? Colonel, that’s sacred country to the Sioux and the Cheyenne.” He could scarcely believe the army would violate treaties with the Indians to stay out of the Black Hills. “Exploratory expedition? Exploring for what?”

  The colonel’s contempt for the flamboyant commander of the Seventh Calvary was evident when he answered. “I don’t really know. Wildlife, rivers, possible locations for future forts—that’s the word being circulated from Washington. It’s my opinion that the main reason it was organized was to search for gold. Custer’s taking a couple of mining experts with him. There have already been rumors of gold up in those hills.”

  Jason shook his head in sober thought. “Well, if there is, there’s gonna be hell to pay. The army ain’t got enough troops to keep folks out of there if the word gets out that there’s gold in the Black Hills. And you know the Indians ain’t gonna stand for it. That land’s sacred to them. They believe that’s where all the animals were born. They’ll fight to keep that land.”